"We'll have to hurry!" yelled Matt.
Picking up a coat from the heap of clothing on the ground, Matt ran to the edge of the lake and plunged the coat into the water; the next moment he had darted back to the open window, hoping to reach in and get an ax or hammer from the workbench for use in battering down the water-door. This door was secured on the inside, and would have to be broken if entrance was effected from the pier.
Ping, frantically eager to help, but hardly knowing what to do, rushed around after Matt, copying every move he made.
When Matt picked up a coat and submerged it in the lake, Ping followed suit; and when Matt, with the dripping garment in his hand, rushed for the broken window, the Chinese boy was close behind.
As ill-luck would have it, there was nothing in the shape of an ax or hammer lying on the bench within reach of Matt's groping fingers.
The window was perhaps a dozen feet along the wall from the landward end of the building. The fire, apparently, had been started at the extreme end, and, although the flames were driving fiercely through the building, the blaze was not so formidable near the window as it was by the door.
Matt changed his plans about entering the boathouse by the water door. He would make an essay through the window, push the Sprite along the rollers and down into the well, unlock the water door from the inside, and then, under her own power, take her out into the cove.
Not a second was to be lost if this plan was to be carried to a successful conclusion. There was danger, plenty of it, in making the attempt to save the Sprite.
Blazing timbers were already falling from the roof of the doomed building, and if one of those dropped on the barrel containing the gasoline supply, an explosion would result and the flaming oil would be hurled everywhere.
But the king of the motor boys did not hesitate. Hurriedly throwing the coat over his head and shoulders, he climbed through the window and rolled off the bench to the smoking floor of the boathouse.